Monthly Archive for September, 2008

The second track from Okkervil River’s recent and excellent The Stand Ins is currently dominating my psyche. A good cover has been invited by the band as part of a series of covers from the album, and that is the video on display below (David Vandervelde). The more electric nature of the original, and the fact the lyrics expressed by Will Sheff, lead singer of Okkervil River, almost seem effervescent and effortless, even though they are rife with memorable phrasing and wit, really does it for me. You need to obtain this record.

Kind of an amiable ramble from these new psych drone hipsters not necessarily prone to this sort of pop reverie. The key part of the song is the refrain that tips into a different tone from the rest of the piece, somewhere different, something portending unspoken something, but vague in the best way, where you can supply your own palimpsest. Kind of reminds me of the Baxter Dury we did here.

Part of me thinks that in order for this song to be as good as it ought to be, it should be in some language I don’t understand. I don’t want to know what he’s saying. Anything linguistically comprehensible is just a distraction from the sonic experience.

A year or so ago, a post came up on some site (maybe this one?) where PP admitted to listening to this song. This is arguably my favorite Teenage Fanclub Song. From the melody, to the bridge, to the Ba Ba Bas, it’s perfect pop music.

This is a band that I’ll admit to not really getting at first. They had a song or two that I liked, most notably Starsign and I Don’t Know from Bandwagonesque. But the singles (The Concept and What You Do to Me) just sounded boring and repetitive. And without a good background in the genre, this is a band that may sound hit or miss. But like the Posies, after spending a lot of time listening to Big Star, everything sort of makes sense. This song is probably the best of the group from this era that includes Ain’t That Enough, I Don’t Want Control of You, and Accidental Life.

Anyway, thank PP for this one. Sorry for the choppy version. The album track is better.

Opens with the sound of intrepid hunters silently moving through an oasis at the edge of a desert, a hushed, rumbly. An expansive, shimmery restrained theatricality. Very Walkmen. Very good. A wonderful new album You and Me. Phenomenal. Give in to them. Live or headphones so the space can be appreciated. I’d love this on record. There is a warmth there that I can’t quite place.

Another band that Last.fm popped out for me. It’s too bad the video isn’t clearer. More videos here.

Presuming he’s never heard them before, Pinko thinks this will set UC’s socks on fire or something. Presuming UC has socks. And they’re flammable. And having them be on fire can be interpreted in a positive sense. I mean Pinko didn’t actually say, “this will set UC’s socks on fire”, that was just all so-to-speak like, and seemed more interesting than “very UC”, which is what Pinko actually did say.

Though, maybe UC actually conducts ritual sock burnings on moonless nights, and takes the burning of socks rather seriously. In which case, I’ve probably ruined everything by my frivolous pyrohosean comment. He’s probably the Grand Gizzard of the Secret Order of the Flaming Legging. Everyone says that there couldn’t possibly be a secret society devoted to the mystical properties of burning socks, but then everyone says that oxygen is necessary to stay alive (also to burn socks) and I’ve never actually seen any of that either. So you see my problem here — I’m surprised there isn’t a trail of smoke going up from my sock drawer already.

Burning socks might be sort of a useful ritual really. Because of sockivorous laundering devices and such like, many socks die lonely deaths far from their life partners. So there are lots of random extra socks lying around, acting pathetic in that way that socks have, and since mismatched socks seems to be a fashion trend whose time never comes, and since all attempts to mate a sock with a chameleon have failed despite much encouragement, there are many socks that would not be missed available for burnt offering duties. “Raise a pleasant odor for our Argyll overlords” or whatever it is the crazed sock-torching cultist set is saying these days. I suppose since they are crazed sock-torching cultists, they might insist that only matched pairs will do for ritual purposes, that a sock without its fellow traveler is fallen and unclean and not fit to stink up a gym bag. Though one would have to assume that there was probably a schism between the single-sock sock burners and paired-sock sock burners at some point (not to speak of the “who cares, any sock will do” faction, but then nobody likes to speak of them anyway). Unfortunately, UC probably won’t admit which faction he belongs to, since he will probably insist he has no idea what I’m talking about — but just how uncanny could he be if he didn’t actually belong to a centuries old secret society (sartorially obsessed or otherwise)?

Of course, now you’re asking yourself, “Is it a good idea for plover to be taunting Happy Fun Sock Cultist?” or “Why does plover know so much about sock-burning cults?” or “Is this all a ruse to distract from shoe-burning cults?” And I, of course, have no answers for you. I can not risk any further disclosures and, the moment the distinct odor of burnt wool drifts in through my window, will deny having written any of this. There are no short cuts. You must knit (and purl) your own tale from the clues scattered across the floors of Lemony and the annals of history. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.